


One Last Favour

by orphan_account



Category: Discworld
Genre: Future Fic, Gen, Post-Canon, Transgender, over 1000 words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-09
Updated: 2005-10-09
Packaged: 2017-10-02 14:18:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Polly rides out to do her old sarge one last favour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Last Favour

The farm wasn't exactly as Polly had imagined - somehow, in her mind, the place had been special, removed - not quite so... Borogravian. But here it was, a dirt road between fields stretching out on both sides, muddy and and grey like the rest of the country, and in the distance, the house, a simple square building with a porch, backed by the animal houses and barn. She could hear the distant whinny of a horse, and felt Prudence's flanks shiver in answer under her legs.

She wasn't sure what she had imagined - more sunlight, maybe. She would have had better luck a month ago, when summer still persisted. Everything looked better in sunlight. Well, most things. Some she could remember could only have been improved by darkness.

Polly tried to gather her thoughts as Prudence trotted forwards. It wasn't easy. Some feelings wanted to bury themselves under wandering thoughts. She focused. She was here for a reason.

Jackrum's note was tucked safely in her breast pocket. Your old sarge needs a favour, lad, the note said, and not much besides. Polly wasn't sure if Jackrum was relying on her curiousity to get her to drop everything and come running. He wouldn't have needed to try and sound mysterious. Polly would have come either way. As it was, she'd shifted a small mountain of paperwork to Major Blouse and asked for leave. General Svinhuvud - Constance to a very few friends - had, after a short chat, during which Polly had made sure to use the general's given name, agreed that she was due leave. Blouse seemed happy enough with the paperwork - he said he liked to tinker with the numbers. Mrs Blouse, Polly knew, wouldn't have been as pleased, so Polly made sure to leave town hastily before Emmeline found out.

She wondered idly if being refused leave would have stopped her. She wondered if even a war would have. Probably not. Some debts you have to repay.

"Hello there!" A gangly boy on a mule trotted up from the farmhouse to meet her.

"Hullo!" Polly tried to study the boy without being too obvious about it. He had the look of someone who had recently shot up and hadn't quite come to terms with all his new improved limbs. She searched for a trace of Jackrum in him, but had to settle for a touch of curvature on the nose and the hair colour - brown, brown, brown and ordinary as mud. There wasn't much of the old sarge in the boy; there was, however, something else in his eye that Polly recognised.

"I don't see a drum or a corporal anywhere - come recruiting on your own?"

"Not today, lad," she smiled. Then she realised how thin that smile must be, and what she herself must look to him - a relatively clean uniform, hair tied back on a ponytail, the insignia... "Besides, that's a sergeant's job, and I'm three months out of that honourable position. Lieutanent Perks," she said, spurring Prudence on to trot towards the house besides the boy and the mule, "here to see the sergeant-major. What's your name?"

"Ted, sir," said the boy.

"How is he?" she asked quietly.

She'd done some calculating, based on the military records she and Blouse had dug up one time. He seemed to know most of it at the start, though, but she had wanted to see for herself. Judging by what each of them knew, and what the papers showed, Sergeant-Major Jackrum was now at least 82 years old.

"Well, you'll see," the boy said quizzically.

She had to admit that the house looked much nicer close up. There was even a vine struggling up the side, though it had now shed nearly all its leaves, and as the faint morning mist cleared the house turned out not to be grey after all, but a rather jolly green. A woman stood at the porch, sleeves rolled up and a dishrag in one hand, watching them approach. Polly dismounted and, with a pat on Prudence's strong, sweaty back, let the boy lead the horse away.

She recognised the woman from the photograph that lay in her breast pocket next to the note. William's wife, Jackrum's daughter-in-law, was short and dark. While she was fairly slim, there was a suggestion of feminine roundness all about her, in her hips and chest and cheeks, and the winding curls of her greying brown hair. Her eyes were round too, and they scrutinized Polly thoughtfully. Polly took off her shako. "Good morning, ma'am. I'm Lieutenant Perks. I'm here to see Sergeant-Major Jackrum."

"Hold on," said the woman suddenly, "you're a gel, aren't you?"

Polly smiled wearily. "Yes. My name is Polly." She strode up and held a hand out. The woman stared at her for a while, then cautiously took her hand. "Prunilla Kopp-Scritz. It's Grandad you're looking for. He's out in the field with Will right now. Come on in."

Polly followed her into the dining room, which made up most of the house. There was an open doorway to a kitchen and a stairway upstairs, where Polly assumed the beds were. Everything above floor-level was scrubbed clean, up to and including the toys, which were stocked up neatly on a shelf in the corner. Polly was surprised to see a brown-bearded man of about forty sitting by the table with an account book open in front of him.

"That's my brother Jed," said Mrs Kopp-Scritz. "This was his farm originally, but seeing as he never got around to marrying, and I've got all these kids running around, Willy and I up and moved in." Jed smiled and waved at Polly, showing a row of enviably white teeth. "This is Lieutanent Perks, Jed. Come to see Grandad. She's a gel, but you're not to say a word, you hear?" Polly suppressed a smile.

"Ted's going to inherit the farm when we're gone." She said it with finality. Polly remembered the gleam in the boy's eyes when he took in her uniform. She was fairly sure no-one had asked Ted what he wanted to do with his life. Might be better, anyway, running a farm. Here, at least, he wouldn't be at a sword's end. "Take a seat, miss," Prunilla added as she turned to the stove. "Tea's up in a minute."

Polly let the 'miss' pass for now and sat at the table opposite Jed. She looked around. A woodcut of the Duchess hung on the wall - one still saw those around all the time, even though Annagovia had been pronounced dead a year ago, following the senate elections and the dissolution of the duchy. Polly thought of a glowing line of light in the dark and the voice speaking with Wazzer's mouth, and wondered.

Jed smiled at her, toothily. "Jackrum's out on the fields, is he?" Polly asked him. "Fit as ever, is he, then?"

Jed nodded his head from left to right, a no and a yes at the same time.

"He's out in his chair," Prunilla called out from the stove-side.

In his chair. The words hit Polly with a sudden dread. Jackrum - big, round, redfaced Jackrum, in a wheelchair. Polly couldn't imagine it. Couldn't even imagine a chair large enough to hold the sergeant.

Suddenly Polly really, really wanted to see Jackrum. She stood up. "I think I'll go meet them there. Could you show me the way?"

-

The fields seemed endless. Polly, who had decided to walk, could follow another dirt road some length of the way, Prunilla had said (her brother remained smiling but silent), but was to turn and go left across the fields at the signpost until she came to the river. They'd be there, she said; Will would be working, and Grandad would be having a chew.

At the end of the road, she could see another house, and over in the horizon, on the left and behind her, she could spot two more. In front of her the landscape turned into groves, then to the steep tall wall of a forest, which shot up behind it to become mountain slopes. On the left she could see up the tree-shaded river winding across the fields, but not beyond; the trees were too close to be seen over, and tall, old. She'd seen rivers like that before in the countryside. It meant that the families here had lived here for a very long time. After a place had been lived in long enough, half the trees became, in a sense, sacred; it would take a lightning to turn any of these old monsters into firewood, because the locals would never even consider it.

Polly smiled a little and thought of Jackrum. Big, old, crafty monster of a man, but one of ours, and it would take a hell of a lot to root him out. Or so one would think.

She caught sight of them suddenly, two shapes against the cacophony of shades and colours that were trees in autumn. They weren't more then thirty feet away; she would have seen them earlier, she realised, if she hadn't on some level been looking for a big ball of red.

The chair, a monstrous old thing, was draped with a checkered brown and green blanket and turned away from her. She could see the thick neck and short-cropped hair. Broad-shouldered William, who had been sitting on a log beside his father, stood up at her approach. Jackrum turned.

"Hah!" The voice rang out as rough and loud as ever; the voice of a man used to shouting. Polly's grin widened and she strode over quickly, hand extended. She found herself pulled down in an uncomfortable hug, stretched over the length of the chair, folded in the smell of chewing tobacco and sweat. "I knew you'd come, Perks! Wouldn't leave old sarge out on a limb, would you?"

Polly found herself laughing at the edge of tears. "Of course not."

"Will, this is Polly Perks. Polly, my son William." The two barely had time to shake before Jackrum let out another bellow. "Bloody hell, Perks! A rupert now, are you?"

"Yes, sarge. Sorry, sarge."

Jackrum eyed her balefully. "Road to perdition, lad."

"That's what Corporal Scallot says, sarge."

"I'll get on with the work, shall I?" said Will and faded into the rustic background. Polly barely noticed. She was looking at Jackrum.

The sergeant's age had always seemed indeterminable - there had been altogether enough redness and roundness to take the eye away from what wrinkles there may have been. The face was still red, but now the splotchiness of it was more random, and Polly could see white skin underneath; sagging skin, layered with hair-thin wrinkles like an old apple. Jackrum looked old, and sick, and Polly felt a terrible cold feeling creeping in.

"Still watching, always watching," Jackrum murmured and grinned. "Yes, Perks. I'm getting old."

"You've got everything you said you wanted, though. I've seen your Ted, and I saw half a dozen other children came running out of the barn on the way over."

"Screaming?"

"Yes, sarge. 'Come on lads, let's make the bastards die for their country!'"

Jackrum barked a laugh. "That one again, eh? Prunilla's not going to be pleased."

"Ted wants to be a soldier, doesn't he?"

"That he does. He'll have to leg it like you and me to get there, though."

"I gathered as much."

They looked at each other in silence for a while, Polly standing with her boots in the mud of the field, Jackrum sitting in his chair, wheels dug in at the gravel path that encircled the field, weed-infested and full of tracks. "Push me home, won't you, Perks?"

"Sure thing, sarge."

The chair rolled surprisingly easily, but Polly struggled with it, feeling altogether too thin-armed for the task ahead. Still, there was no hurry. Jackrum made no comment. He would expect her to tough it out, and she expected to do so, too.

"Not a bad set-up you've got here, sarge."

"Gaggle of grandkids and all the prospect of dying in bed."

Polly winced.

"I heard that, Perks!"

"Heard what, sarge?"

"Don't try that. The wince. I don't like it any more than you do, less, probably, but there you have it. I'm old and sick and about to die the death of a soldier who's good enough in his job not to die in the battlefield." He fell silent for a while. "Sometimes I wish I hadn't been quite so good. Stupid, huh? Want some?" He waved a packet of tobacco at her.

Polly shook her head. "Still don't, sarge."

"Suit yourself." He took a bite of tobacco and began to chew with relish. "So, this favour."

"Anything, sarge."

"Hah! Never promise that, lad." He fell silent again for a moment. "What happens when a person dies in bed, Perks?"

"The body is washed," Polly answered, then stopped dead.

"Exactly."

"Oh!"

"Indeed, Perks. There'll be some explaining to do once yours truly expires. And there you have my request, Perks."

"You want me to explain?"

"I want to die a Grandad," said Jackrum gruffly. "I don't want to die explainin'. They can find out later and add another chapter to the legend of Jackrum, but William's got to be told, and all the kids have got to be told. Prunilla doesn't hold much with any kind of aberration to the norm, and William's bound to agree more often than not. I want them to see. Understand?"

"Sure, sarge." Polly resumed pushing the chair slowly, back towards the house. "Don't worry about it."

Jackrum nodded. "Excellent! That settles that. And you? How've you been, when you're not turning traitor to old Jackrum and getting more promotions than anybody needs?"

"Oh, this and that."

"Liked that bit about the senate. Must be nice to fight for an actual government for a change. I'm surprised Zlobenia wasn't pissed off."

"They were, sarge." Polly sighed. "There's talk of another war."

"Good crop year, this year."

"Yes," said Polly. "That doesn't mean it's good enough to feed us for another decade of fighting."

"Something might come up. Eh?"

"Major Blouse and I are working for that end." Polly smiled. "The Tiger's all grown up. You'd be proud."

"There you go again! Talking as if ruperts were any good at this sort of thing. It's people like you and me that have to keep things from being bungled."

"I'm a rupert now, sarge."

"Don't remind me! How are the other lads these days, eh?"

"Shufti and Paul were married a few years ago."

"Paul, your brother? Isn't he a bit of a half-wit?"

Polly stiffened. "She seems happy with him."

"Well, I guess nobody's perfect."

"Maladict made sergeant a couple of years ago. I don't know why she hasn't passed me in rank yet."

"She?"

"'He' works just as well. Mal seems to enjoy the ambiguity."

"What about Halter and Tewt?"

"Sent a letter from Ankh-Morpork a few months ago."

"Pity. They made fine soldiers. And the others?"

"It's just me and Mal, I'm afraid."

"Well, that's something, at least."

Jackrum looked up at the sky. The sun was high now and the sky was clearing. "Not too bad, all around," he said, and sighed. "War or no war, you'll do fine."

Gravel creaked under the weight of the chair. The sun was beginning to feel hot on Polly's back despite the cool breeze; she suspected it was the strain of pushing the chair. Birdsong and rushing water flowed in to fill the silence.

She was aware, gradually, of the wheelchair seeming heavier, though the path wasn't steepening. The wheels rattled over a plank bridge set over a ditch and up to the road. Jackrum's arm fell off the arm of the chair and his plump fingers rattled against the spokes of the wheel. Polly froze, gripping the handles, knuckles white.

"Sarge?" The word came out strangled, hoarse.

-

The family was gathered around the table, with Polly, the officer guest, sitting at one end, with William on the other end with Prunilla and Jed at his side. Left and right were long faces of children ranging from six to fifteen year's of age, some teary, others wooden, and a couple incomprehensible. There was some sniffling going on, though Polly was likely to attribute that to Flora's flu, which Tim and Greta had also caught. Loss isn't anything new to a Borogravian family.

Jackrum's body lay on two long benches in the other end of the room, as the kitchen was hardly the place for him and that's where the house ran out of rooms. He was laid out in all his clothes, under the same blanket that had been keeping him warm in his chair. Ted had been sent out for the priest, who'd oversee the washing and preparation of the body. Polly regretted his absence. Ted should have been among the first to hear what she had to say.

"I'm sorry about all this, ma'am," said Prunilla into the silence. "I'll set you up in another room if you'd like to stay for the funeral."

"That's all right, Mrs Kopp-Scritz." Polly found herself nervous. She crossed her hands, uncrossed and recrossed them. "I would like to tell you a story," she began, "about Sergeant-Major Jackrum."

-

She rode out the same night, finding no more reason to linger. It would take her several hours before she'd be back at the inn she'd stayed in on the way over, but she didn't mind the lateness. She wanted the cool night breeze in her hair, in her ears, clearing her thoughts, and the night sky above, full of stars. Back at the capital, she'd tell Mal and Blouse and they'd ride out on the outcropping overlooking Kneck Valley and toast the old sergeant.

She saw Ted and the priest riding up towards almost as soon as she'd left the gates, blacker dots in the gloom on the long straight road. They met half-way, and the lieutanent and the priest - a black-clad Omnian, she observed - exchanged greetings.

"Ted," Polly said before they had a chance to ride on. "You should know, your grandad..." She hesitated. There had been tears behind Ted's eyes when Polly and William had wheeled back Jackrum's unmoving body, and Polly remembered too many young faces, distorted with grief, who'd kissed the Duchess for all the wrong reasons. "Your grandad never regretted his life. But he knew there's no glory in it, either. You'll hear a new story about him when you get home, one I told your family. It will surprise you. It certainly made your parents think. But that's not the important story."

Ted swallowed. "He was a great man-"

"Yes, he was. But great doesn't always mean glorious. He killed a lot of people..."

"Evil people!"

"No," said Polly firmly. "Just people. Soldiers. He stole goods off anybody, friend or foe, who stopped in his path; he lay in wait and ambushed the enemy in the darkness; he survived at the cost of the blood and flesh of ordinary men." Sometimes literally, Polly thought, remembering Ibblestarn. "There's no shame in being a farmer," she continued, feeling a pang of pity for the young man trembling with suppressed emotion. "Jackrum was prouder of your dad than anything else he'd ever done in his life."

She wasn't sure how much of that registered. They parted ways after quick murmured godspeeds and good nights, Ted's shoulders squared stubbornly over whatever was going on inside. He'd have to make his own choices eventually.

Prudence showed a willingness to gallop, so Polly allowed her, riding out into the night.


End file.
